John stared, horrified, at the mangled, bloody body of his best friend.

What now? The band is doomed. My career is doomed, he thought as tears welled up in his eyes. I'm doomed.

How would he tell George and Ringo? Jane?

John hung his head, feeling absolutely hopeless.

Not when things were just getting good.

*One Month Earlier*

"Boys! I have a brilliant idea!" Paul called as he strutted into the room, bass in hand.

George and Ringo lazily made eye contact, as they heard the same thing with all of Paul's ideas. John merely continued plucking his guitar.

"Let me take a guess. A song. About a girl. And we love her," he looked up. "Correct?"

"False! An entire album! About everything from drugs to diamonds!"

Ringo raised an eyebrow. "What's it called?"

Paul smiled widely and spread his arms out across the air, as though imagining the layout. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!"

"Sounds like a mouthful. And not of food." George said with groan.

"Hush, George. Brian did say that we needed to begin planning an album for '67..." John trailed off.

Ringo cut in. "I'm in, so long as I can have a cool nickname."

"You already do, Richard!" John yelled.

"Deal," Paul winked.

"If Ringo's in, I'm in," George said.

"John?"

"Alright, alright. Sgt. Pepper's it is."